Anniversary

He peels back the page of his calendar; it feels like peeling a scab off an old wound. The date sticks out like a tombstone on freshly cut grass, and he looks cautiously on the grave of memory. It took a whole week to remove the bobby-pins. One by one, like pulling splinters out of his palm. Now, a year later, he still finds strands of hair clinging to corners and table legs. It took a whole month to carve out the feeling of emptiness.

The first few weeks it sounded like a foreign language when they had asked what had happened; her name barely touched his lips. Now, when he thinks about saying it, he imagines it dissolving on his tongue.